Corners
by anxiousgeek
Summary: House/Cuddy. Cuddy fest fic. Cuddy shows House she can drive a motorcycle. Set after the Tritter arc.


"Bad?"

She didn't really need to ask, the answer was glaring and obvious. His answer was obvious even if you didn't know him, office dark except for the security lights, he was just a shadow at his desk, hunched over his leg. She was surprised by the untouched bottle of Scotch on his desk. He was rubbing his thigh, hadn't looked up to see her when she spoke. Just kept rubbing as if the contact was the only thing that stopped the pain currently burning through his body from causing him to collapse.

"Give me your keys, I'll drive you home."

"I brought my bike."

"That's okay."

"You are not riding my bike." The words were hooked on the pain.

"I can handle a bike House," she said, hands on her hips, "even that orange monstrosity." It had been while, but she could handle it.

"Where's you BMW?"

"Annual service. Wilson drove me in."

"Nice of him," house huffed.

"Get your bag," Cuddy ordered. He didn't reply but after a moment pushed himself up and grabbed his bag and cane.

"There's a spare helmet in the corner," he said. She smiled.

In the parking garage she swung her leg over with more grace than he had expected, feeling a smirk bubble up. He was impressed.

"Who taught you to ride Cuddy? Cause it sure as hell wasn't daddy."

"Ex-boyfriend." She held out her hands for a helmet and he hesitated. "House, I'm a natural with a machine between my legs," she reassured, barely keeping the smirk from her face.

"I definitely want to see a demonstration of a machine between your legs sometime," he said, handing her the helmet.

She ignored him and smoothed her hair down, pulling the helmet on and waiting for House to sort himself out. She could play with him, drive him home and distracted him for a little while if nothing else.

"Good thing you worse a pant suit today." His voice was strained slightly, but she ignored it. Knew he would want her to ignore it.

"I've ridden in a skirt once before," she said, "never again."

"Shame," he said sliding behind her.

"Way too cold. Though, I wasn't wearing any underwear at the time either."

With that she kicked away the stand and sped out of the parking garage, House clinging onto her waist.

Feeling his large hands grip around her, she sped up, feeling the muscles in his arms tense for a moment relax. Then he started to move, pressing down on her stomach gently every time she went through a red light, and she wasn't sure what it meant, though, probably approval.

She stopped at a busy intersection and he nudged further into the seat, holding her tighter against him, and she grinned, and the millisecond the lights turned orange she sped across the intersection, weaving around a couple of cars that were slower off the mark.

He tensed up again at the sound of a siren drifting in from the distance, but relaxed soon after, she was taking him for a ride now, the very long way around, distracting him from bad legs and worse cops. Or bad cops and worse legs. Which ever was the most pressing on his mind. He didn't seem to be protesting, simply holding on, hands under her jacket, bodies tight together.

He started to move his hand as she found a constant speed that was still pretty fast but that she was comfortable with. She was comfortable with some pretty high speeds but still hoped House was suitably impressed. His hand started to stray up her stomach a little, the other wrapped around her waist. She turned a corner and the hand skimmed the underside of her breasts. She swerved purposely to put him off balance as a warning.

In response his hand slid back lower on her body.

Another corner and his hand slid up her body again, skimming over a nipple before she swerved to the side once more and he snapped his hand away.

Another corner and he cupped her left breast, thinking he'd pushed his luck when she came to a shocking, screeching halt.

Then he realised he was home.

She slapped his hand and he moved it from her breast, holding onto the bike as she climbed off. Stretching her back out, she ignored him, then pulled her helmet off, hair wild. House smirked, staying on the bike.

"Nice ride," he said.

"For you," she said glaring at him now.

"Well, mostly, too much pain for a hard on," he said, "sorry to disappoint," he added. He clambered off the bike with even less grace and ability than usual, but Cuddy kept her distance as he righted himself.

"I'm heart broken," she muttered.

"Come in and call a cab."

She followed him into his apartment, watching his limp carefully, trying to ignore the feel of his hands on her breasts. It really wasn't the time for berating him, but caring for him, though he'd let her do neither. He frustrated the hell out of her in so many ways.

"I never expected you to be able to ride a bike, let alone do it so well," he said, tossing her his phone as he walked passed it. She caught and put it back in it's cradle properly so it could charge, seeing the battery was dead. She pulled her cell phone out and dialed a cab company, watching House shed his coat and grab a bottle of scotch, dropping his cane to the floor as he collapsed in his chair.

When she was satisfied the cab was on it's way, she wandered further into the apartment.

"I never expected you to feel me up on the ride home," she said, replying to his earlier comment.

"Really?" he said with a raised eyebrow. She couldn't help the smile.

"I never had a bike of my own," she said, avoiding the comment, "couldn't afford it, and my mother would've had kittens."

"The biker boyfriend didn't?"

"She didn't know about the biker boyfriend."

"I thought women told their mothers everything."

"Not my mother," she said.

"Really?" he asked, eyebrow raised, interest piqued.

"She told my dad everything and I definitely didn't want him to know."

She watched him absorb the information and the door bell interrupted them.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked, taking a step towards him.

"No," he said, "but there's nothing you can do."

"I could..." she trailed off, thinking of all the things she could do, give him a blow job, morphine, hell, knock him out and let him be unconscious through the pain.

"It's fine Cuddy," he said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

She sighed. It was always going to be like this. What she wanted to do, held back by her guilt and his misery. It was times like these she missed having a bike to ride, to just ride and ride to nowhere and back again.

"Goodnight House."


End file.
